


The Mice Will Play

by diemarysues



Series: Three [5]
Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Fluff, Frottage, M/M, Multi, Threesome - M/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-23
Updated: 2013-12-23
Packaged: 2018-01-05 18:43:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,375
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1097361
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/diemarysues/pseuds/diemarysues
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>No, it's not an animal fic, as the title might suggest.</p><p>Thorin and Bilbo just have an appreciation for Dwalin('s show).</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Mice Will Play

**Author's Note:**

  * For [alkjira](https://archiveofourown.org/users/alkjira/gifts).



> I thought I said no smut /glares at characters/ Ah well. This counts as foreplay.

“Thorin? Are you in there?”

 

“Yes,” he called back, smiling when Bilbo sauntered into view. “And if Dwalin was here as well, he’d have twisted that into some kind of pun.”

 

This was met with Bilbo wrinkling his nose, although there was mirth hidden in the crinkles of his eyes. “I may have to declare the whole apartment a pun-free zone if I’m going to keep my sanity.”

 

“You love it,” Thorin teased, reaching up a hand to tangle their fingers together. “And you love us.”

 

“Latter, yes. Former not so much.” The smile that had been fighting to curl his lips apparently won its battle, and Bilbo decided to hide it against Thorin’s mouth. It wasn’t very uncommon for them to kiss at this angle, given how many times Bilbo was on top, and so Thorin just hummed and enjoyed the lazy curl of Bilbo’s tongue against his. The smaller man remained close after they parted, nuzzling their noses together. “Hello, darling.”

 

As always, Thorin’s heart did a little flip at the endearment. (He was quite sure that Dwalin would’ve mocked him for it but for the fact that his cousin had pretty much the same reaction.) “Hello, dear one.”

 

Bilbo smiled brilliantly, and ghosted another kiss to Thorin’s lips before straightening. “Would you like me to fix something?”

 

“You know I’ll eat anything of yours,” he replied, smirking. Dwalin wasn’t the only one who was a deft hand at puns.

 

A forefinger – that had seen many creative uses, yes it had – was waggled at him threateningly. “Don’t even. I’ll make you cauliflower.”

 

Bleagh. As much as Thorin took pleasure in Bilbo’s steely backbone, it was horrifying how cruel the TV-chef could be. Bullying him with cauliflower was truly sinking to the deepest of lows. “Mercy, please.”

 

“You should’ve really thought of that before you opened that lovely mouth of yours.” Then Bilbo winked, thereby stealing any air Thorin might have had to protest having a ‘lovely’ mouth, and sashayed into the kitchen.

 

When he re-emerged from the kitchen, it was with a bowl of cut apples, drizzled with some strange sauce – and most definitely not a bowl of disgusting vegetable. Luckily for Thorin (and for their continued relationship, because cauliflower really was a crime against humanity).

 

“What’s that?” Thorin asked, peering interestedly into the fluorescent bowl, as Bilbo settled into the sofa beside him. It looked almost like semi-melted peanut butter, which sounded like an interesting food combination.

 

“Taste it first.” Bilbo picked up a triangle of apple, holding it up to Thorin’s mouth-level. There was no devious twist to his lips, meaning that it was entirely possible that he had absolutely no idea how delicious a picture he made. “Tell me if you like it.”

 

Thorin obediently opened his mouth and most definitely did _not_ let his tongue flick against Bilbo’s fingers. He ignored the glare this earned – no idea what had brought that on – and concentrated on the burst of salt-sweet (yes, ha-ha inner Dwalin) across his tongue, over the taste of the crunchy apple slice. He made sure to swallow (again ignoring the imagined-chortles in his head) before speaking. “That’s really good.”

 

“Oh, _good_!” was the response, and Thorin had to smile at the way Bilbo sounded so delighted. “It’s almond butter.”

 

He’d been almost right, then. Thorin thought about this for a second, snaring another piece of fruit as he did. “So, a healthier alternative to peanut butter.”

 

“I don’t know about healthier,” Bilbo admitted, frowning slightly. “But I did have some left over from making almond cookies.”

 

“Ah, yes. Those cookies.” Thorin made his eyes go wide and mournful – sometimes that pleading expression worked on his lovers. Sometimes. “None of which I ended up eating.”

 

He was snorted at rudely. “Not my fault. You should know how Dwalin is; you’ve known him for longer than I have. Grew up with him, too.”

 

Thorin grumbled at this, only relenting when Bilbo snickered and cuddled into his side. He dropped his arm around narrow shoulders and picked up the remote he’d abandoned when Bilbo had first entered the flat.

 

“What’re you watching?” Bilbo asked, only now seeming to notice that the telly had been turned on. Then again, Thorin had hit the mute button once he’d heard the key in the lock. He pressed it again.

 

“I don’t know, some terrible thing. Only started watching it because I caught a familiar name: Dwalin’s ex-publicist person. The one that ended up being prosecuted for embezzlement.”

 

“Smaug?”

 

“That’s the one.” Thorin could vaguely remember meeting the man at some function or other. He’d seemed like a lizard; sleek and slick and sly. Thorin had taken an instant dislike towards Smaug, and had pulled Dwalin aside that same night to ask how he’d landed such a terrible boss. “I’m going to presume Dwalin’s show took off because of him and not due to any effort from that oily fellow.”

 

Bilbo snorted. “He might have been good at his job.”

 

“Doubt it. This show,” Thorin gesticulated towards the telly, careful not to let fly the remote, “as I said, is terrible.”

 

“Change it, then.”

 

He obliged, lazily flipping channels and feeling rather domestic with Bilbo under his arm. The picture would’ve been completed with Dwalin on his other side, making snide comments and stealing Thorin’s share of the apple bits, but this would do for now. Bilbo pulled his feet up onto the couch and snuggled even closer to Thorin. Yes, this would do.

 

Anyhow, it turned out that Dwalin’s absence was negated when Thorin finally settled on a channel. It took Bilbo awhile (read: for the theme song of the show to finish playing) to realise what programme he’d chosen. He snorted.

 

“Do you often watch this?”

 

“Hey, there are times when all I have to do is browse the hotel telly.” Thorin magnanimously ignored Bilbo’s snort – disbelieving, this time. He wasn’t _that_ much of a workaholic. Especially not since he’d lucked out with his personal life. “And ‘At Your Service’ is a lot better than most of the rubbish you usually get.”

 

“I suppose,” Bilbo said. “I don’t watch Dwalin’s programme very often so –”

 

“You _don’t_?” He peered down with a perplexed expression on his face. “Why on earth not?”

 

Bilbo glared. “No need to sound so disgusted. It’s just – before meeting him I wasn’t _really_ interested in DIY-construction projects. And after, well… then I had him in the flesh.”

 

 _Don’t_ make the obvious pun – Thorin cleared his throat. “I see I’ll have to enlighten you on the benefits, you uncultured swine.” He ignored the unkind things Bilbo was muttering under his breath, pulling his lover close.

 

Alright, so calling Bilbo uncultured for not watching Dwalin’s show was a bit of an exaggeration, but the point remained that it was an excellent way of spending time – and not because Thorin enjoyed hammering. (No. Absolutely no puns about that.) There was a specific reason why he usually tuned in at five o’ clock – a reason that had eluded him before both Dwalin and Bilbo had come (ahem) into his life.

 

Bilbo caught on soon enough.

 

“I don’t suppose he ever gets rid of the shirt entirely?” he asked, a little breathless as they both stared at Dwalin’s arms flexing.

 

“Don’t think he ever has on telly. Shame.” Thorin snatched up another piece of apple while the fingers of his other hand unconsciously drew circles on Bilbo’s shoulder. “It’s not like we usually leave marks.”

 

“Not so high up, certainly.” Bilbo bit his lip. “I wonder if he can still feel the one I left yesterday afternoon.”

 

“Of course he can,” Thorin crooned, almost purring. “You spent a lot of time between those thick thighs of his – so long that I started wondering when you’d have to come up for air.” Onscreen, Dwalin started folding his sleeves further up his arms. “He begged very nicely for you to finish him off there and then.”

 

“And I did,” Bilbo replied proudly, eyes still glued onto the screen.

 

“Aye.” His arm dropped behind Bilbo’s back so he could curl his hand over a pudgy hip. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard him as loud. Telly notwithstanding, of course.” TV-Dwalin appeared to be yelling at someone – Bard, was it? – presumably over the fact that they’d received the wrong colour of paint. The lanky, dark-haired man just looked bored.

 

Silence lapsed between them as they watched their lover go through the necessary preparation for sanding and priming. The terminologies sort of skimmed over their heads, but who cared about that when there was a deep voice to listen to?

 

“Thorin,” Bilbo broke in, sounding suspicious, “do you wank to this?”

 

“Yes.” There was no point denying something that was true. It wasn’t as if it was something to be embarrassed about, anyway. “I’ve even wanked to yours. The one where you were making pavlova.”

 

“Pavlova,” Bilbo repeated flatly.

 

“I didn’t ask you to have to lick white stuff of your fingers,” Thorin said, sounding grumpy even to his own ears. Surely he was entitled, given the way Bilbo was looking at him. “It’s not my fault that reminded me of something else.”

 

“I… I don’t know what to say to that.” Indeed, the strangled way he spoke suggested that he wasn’t sure whether to laugh or not.

 

“Well before you continue judging me, let me remind you that _I’m_ the one who keeps having to travel, and is therefore without either you or Dwalin ‘in the flesh’. I get lonely, and I have needs.”

 

“Darling.” Bilbo had pulled back and shifted so he was kneeling and facing Thorin fully, and he now rested a hand on Thorin’s upper arm. “I didn’t mean to sound judgemental at all. I’m sorry. The distance is hard on all of us, and on you especially, I know. I know.” His other hand came up to cup a stubbled jaw. “I wish I could change that.”

 

Well, there was a way to change it, and that lay in Thorin’s hands. But that was an entirely too serious conversation for now… and one he should really have with his business partners rather than his lovers. So he curled his fingers over Bilbo’s, and smiled. “At least you can’t say I have bad taste in wanking material.”

 

The look directed at him made it clear that there was a smart reply on the way, but then Bilbo glanced at the telly screen and his eyes just about doubled in size. Thorin turned as well.

 

 _Hello_.

 

Having missed what had happened, Thorin and Bilbo were left with the appealing picture of Dwalin shirtless. His cousin had a massive frown on his face, so apparently something had gone wrong… but as it had resulted in something absolutely _right_ , there were no worries.

 

They both knew from experience that Dwalin’s chest was wide and muscled, sprinkled generously with wispy curls that did nothing to hide his tattoos. They were seamless continuations of the ones along his arms; bold, solid lines of varying thickness creating sharp angles and graceful swirls. Contained within these main borders was a delicate interlocking pattern that Thorin (and Bilbo) could spend hours tracing.

 

That wasn’t even the best bit.

 

They were two simple little rings. Just the right size to be tugged on and played with, enough to make Dwalin quiver with need. They glinted under the lights for the camera, and Thorin swallowed heavily.

 

Bilbo’s clever hands had his jeans unbuttoned and unzipped before Thorin was even aware of it. He was, however, definitely aware of the gentle roll of Bilbo’s palm against the bulge in his pants. He let his head drop against the back of the sofa, groaning softly and shifting his hips against teasing pressure.

 

He automatically gripped Bilbo’s waist to steady him. Bilbo crowded into his lap, hand trapped between them and moving relentlessly. Thorin growled and batted it away before spreading his fingers over Bilbo’s gorgeous arse and grinding him down. That was, _oh_ , that was delicious friction, all that cloth between them. Thorin hadn’t gotten up to this sort of thing since his early twenties and that was a shame, because it was _brilliant_.

 

“Do you think of us often?” Bilbo whispered, face flushed. “When you’re away?”

 

“Almost constantly,” he answered truthfully. It was maddening to have those he loved so far away, but needs must. All he could do was cherish the time he did have with them; Thorin squeezed his generous handfuls and listened to Bilbo’s moan. “I try to imagine what you and Dwalin get up to.”

 

“While the cat’s away?” Thorin’s displeased huff was overshone by Bilbo’s bright laughter. Bilbo pushed both hands into his hair, holding his curls off his forehead; the image of him with his arms raised, biting his lip in pleasure, rocking his hips down and forward –

 

It was _intoxicating_.

 

Thorin leaned up to taste Bilbo’s neck, smiling when the other man pressed closer to him. “I think of both of you tangled in the sheets. Slippery and slick while you fuck Dwalin – or he fucks you.”

 

Bilbo’s reply cut off into a high-pitched whine when Thorin nipped at his throat.

 

“You saw him on the telly. Shirtless and beautiful. All those lovely muscles especially in his arms.” Thorin let his hands slip up on either side of Bilbo’s spine, still over cloth but making the other man arch all the same. “Imagine those arms holding you down as he fucks you on his worktable.”

 

“Sp – there’d be…” Bilbo’s mouth worked wordlessly as Thorin started sucking a bruise into his skin. His hands found their way into Thorin’s hair now, tugging and pulling unchecked, sending frissons of pleasure through his body. “Splinters.”

 

Thorin groaned, half in frustration, half in bliss; Bilbo laughed and bore down again, _hard_.

 

“What _I_ want,” Bilbo said between panted breaths, “what I want is you and him, working together. Side-by-side, gleaming with sweat, both so strong and with lovely tattoos…” He sighed happily. “And all mine.”

 

“Yes, yours,” Thorin growled, and just about threw Bilbo down onto the sofa cushions. He’d just leaned over an unfairly beguiling smile when a shadow fell across them.

 

“Well, well,” said Dwalin, smirking. “What do we have here?”

**Author's Note:**

> I think I just pulled an alkjira ;D


End file.
